nickels for narcotics - infinite x travis porter (eminem)

first rap i ever wrote. don't hate.

look; take the mindset of a fucked kid from down under
add it to violence of tidal waves and fury of thunder
sprinkle a hit of eminem and mix in a dash of king geedorah
make it enigmatic like makaveli and mind-numbing like ether
combine one-half dimethyltryptamine with four-fifths diazepam
it’ll cause overdoses after smoking only half a gram
fucking nauseating like alice d and sid’s childhood romance
that’s the way i’d explain myself if i got the fucking chance
but y’know, i’m always tightlipped due to my insecurities and anxieties
unless i’m letting go on a beat so we’ll call the lyrics my diaries
but let’s not call it hip-hop, it’s music-assisted poetry
and these aren’t verses or stanzas, it’s my life encoded in .mp3
i’m dropping lines right in front of you, ready for the snorting
but really, it’s a suicide note disguised as a rap recording
i’m surcummbing to the addiction, the way it’s suppose to be
trading nickels for narcotics cause it’s the only thing to comfort me

relished in our worries, victories, failures, fucks and fears
if home is where the heart is, i’ve been homeless for fucking years
i left it somewhere in the eastern suburbs back in oh-eight
really, family to me is worth all the bus trips interstate
consider yourself lucky, you had friends to see everyday
my best friends live at the end of 300 ks away
aside from them and mary jane, city lights numbs my pain
i’ll be the kid seated across from you; looking out the window of the train
exploring the city along train lines through hazy eyes
rushing along between platforms, seats and head highs
and if happiness were a drug, you’d have all died from your binge
skin with a purplish-tinge; fallen victim to that deceitful syringe
it’s happened to me, you’ll escape through a hole in your head
because chasing brightness angers darkness and it won’t stop ‘til you’re dead
push against the grain though; turn the cycle to a revolution
keep self-medicating and ingesting cancerous lung pollution

i may never be a success but my voice will never be suppressed
and like a move in chess, none of my bars meaningless
though i’m a dime a dozen poet like tight jeans at flinders street
i know i’ve been depressive but know i’ll never admit defeat
it’s just i’m tired of living this dreary, bleak reality. shit
am i awake or just a victim to a brain-chemical abnormality?
dunno but at either rate, i’ll end up with too much on my plate
i’d say i’d demonstrate but i’m sure you can already relate
i’ve spent every night for the last nineteen years counting sheep
but every numeral never seems to amount to any fucking sleep
i’m always wide awake, finding ample reasons to stay jaded
passing the moonlight getting sedated, wasted and faded
this insomnia and hatred have provoked the beast inside of me
set free with an insatiable need to devour eemcees
spitting static on an inaudible frequency
gathering up all bitch rappers and to let him feed peacefully